


Extra Cream

by pprfaith



Series: Wishlist 2009 [4]
Category: Gilmore Girls, Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Fun, Gen, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:59:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pprfaith/pseuds/pprfaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks just like Dean!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Cream

**Author's Note:**

> AllenPitt requested Gilmore Girls/Supernatural, Rory/Sam, _He looks just like her Dean!_ \- Don’t look too close, I only have a passing acquaintance with Gilmore Girls.
> 
> 2009 repost.

+

Rory waves goodbye to the retreating back of her last friend and wonders why exactly she let herself be dragged here. Here being a craft market more than an hour’s drive away from home, in the middle of pretty much nowhere. They started out about half an hour ago and almost immediately, her friends started splitting off in groups of two, wanting to go watch that, see that, look for this. 

Paris was the last to leave after running into someone she has apparently not seen in a long, long time. Rory doesn’t begrudge her friend her happy reunion. Really, she doesn’t. It’s just that she’s alone now and that was totally not planned. 

She huffs, kicks at the gravel path and then winces when she stubs her toe on a particularly big and nasty bit of rock. Ouch. Maybe she should just find someplace to sit and read until the others realize that she’s on her own. If they ever do. Having happy friends sucks when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.

For a moment she scowls darkly at her aching foot, then resolves not to let this get her down. She can have fun on her own. And afterwards, when they meet up to go home she can make the others feel a bit guilty to make herself feel better. Yeah, that’s exactly what she’s going to do. Rory for the win.

She straightens, smoothes down her skirt and spins on her heel to go look for some coffee and – 

\- crashes right into a big, high, broad chest. She goes flying backwards like a ball that gets bounced off the wall too hard and lands on her butt in the gravel. As soon as they get home, she’s going to hide Paris’s favorite book. Maybe in the trash. For revenge. 

“Ouch!” she calls automatically as soon as she has got air again and looks up at the man wall she ran into. And up. And up. And up. Wow. He’s – 

\- he’s Dean.

Only… not. She squints against the glare of the sun and the bad angle, seeing Dean overlaid with someone who’s broader and darker and has frown lines in his face. Dean, but not. Not-Dean. A few years older than her former boyfriend, a bit more worn around the edges. But that nose, those cheekbones, and the eyes. It’s like looking into an alternate universe and taking a peek at what Dean who’s not Dean might be like. 

The….er…. guy is talking, but she’s not really listening and then he’s crouching in front of her, hand on her shoulder, concerned. She realizes she’s been sitting in the dirt like an idiot for a long time but can’t help trailing her gaze up that arm and oh goodness, that’s some serious muscle. 

She blushes, looks away and looks right back again, meeting his gaze. Green like Dean’s, but harder and colder. Disappointed somehow. 

She tries to smile through her shock when somewhere someone calls something and the guy calls back, “Dean!”

It’s jarring to hear the word that’s bouncing around her head spoken out loud and it actually takes a moment for her to realize that it does _not_ mean this is Dean after all because few people make a habit of calling their own name out loud and Dean is definitely not one of them. Pokemons do, though and that’s totally not relevant right now. 

“Sammy!” someone barks and a pair of dirty boots comes to a halt next to them. “Sam, man, when I said you needed a girl, I didn’t mean knock one out and drag her home.”

Sam – that’s his name, Sam, he’s Sam, not Dean, Not-Dean – glares at the other man and says, “Very funny, Dean. I think she hurt herself.”

Who hurt what? Oh, they’re talking about her. Rory, who’s been sitting in the gravel like an idiot for more than a minute now. She blushes scarlet and finally manages, “No, sorry, I’m alright. Didn’t mean to run into you like that but – “ 

She’s babbling. Sam looks worried and the other guy – wow, hot!, the new guy, Also-Dean, is hot – smirks. She scrambles to stand, to recover some of her lost dignity and manages without flashing the two of them. Damn skirt. Paris picked it. Figures. Tonight, Paris is going down. 

“Sorry,” she says again, looking at Sam, “You just look a lot like someone I know. Knew.” That correction still hurts.

She squints up at him again and notices that he carries himself differently than Dean, too. Straighter. Taller. He’s not trying to appear smaller but using his height. “You don’t happen to have a long lost twin named Dean, do you?”

They both bark a short laugh and the other Maybe-Dean, Also-Dean, snorts, “Sorry, darlin’, I’m the only Dean in this family.”

Oh, they’re brothers. They do have the same eyes, she realizes. Pretty eyes. Maybe she did hurt herself falling down like that. “Right,” she starts and has no idea how to go on. 

Not-Dean runs a hand through his hair, obviously feeling the awkard that’s hanging around them like a cloud. Maybe-Dean is still smirking, cool with an edge to him. Not-Dean has that edge, too, in his voice, his eyes, his stance. 

Rory might not have had the perfect childhood, what with a slightly crazy teenage mother, but she knows that her life is good, that she’s lucky and most of the world doesn’t have what she has. Looking at those two, she can tell they’ve never had much of anything. Used to fighting, to getting beat down. Like goods no-one wants. She feels sorry for them, feels pity and in the same instant knows that they would hate her if she voiced it. 

And just like that they stop being Not and Maybe and Also and become Sam and Dean, two strangers, people she’s never met, that have nothing to do with her Dean, the real Dean, and never will. 

Because her Dean is soft and warm and he cares. He slouches to hide how big he is and he doesn’t like hurting people. He’s gentle. These two have never learned how to be anything but hard, she doesn’t think. 

“I should probably find my ditching friends,” she tells them, backing away, smoothing her skirt again with one hand, the other one clutching her bag. Sam nods at her and Dean doesn’t do much of anything and then she turns around and almost jogs to get away from them faster.

It’s not that they scare her with the hint of dark possibility in their eyes. Life as it might have been. Dean, how he might have turned out. 

If things had been different.

If, if, if. Rory shakes her head, digs for her cell phone and prepares to guilt trip Paris into buying her coffee. With extra cream. 

+


End file.
